


sweat your summers hot and sweet

by crownedcarl



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Day At The Beach, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Prompt Fill, Short & Sweet, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23484070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: It's a rare day off for both of them. Dwight can't imagine spending it anywhere else, content to be sitting side by side and soaking up the sunshine together.
Relationships: Duke Crocker/Dwight Hendrickson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	sweat your summers hot and sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gendernoncompliant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendernoncompliant/gifts).



> Prompt fill for [Ashe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendernoncompliant/pseuds/gendernoncompliant) for the prompt "this is the opposite of what I told you to do" for my two favorite boys. Title from Ohio by Honeyhoney. Comments make a world of difference in inspiring me to continue writing for this fandom, so please leave one. ❤
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://dickardgansey.tumblr.com/) and I would love it if you checked out my [other Haven fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl/works?fandom_id=9218791)!

The July noon comes bright and hot on the heels of a humid morning.

Dwight is soaking through his shirt the moment he kills the A/C and the engine in one fluid motion. His hands are clammy from the steering wheel.

His fingers slip-slide across the dash, leaving dark fingerprints, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as Dwight steps out on the baking pavement and grimaces, enveloped in an oppressive heat. Earlier this morning, the beach had sounded like a welcome getaway, Duke mentioning it far too casually for it to be anything other than a seduction, his fingers trailing delicately up Dwight's stomach towards his chest. Dwight had let him pitch it, smiling all the while, humming agreeably at Duke's suggestion of really making the most of his day off.

 _Alright,_ Dwight had murmured, _alright, Duke_ and four hours later, here he is: beads of sweat trickling from the damp ends of his hair down his spine, squinting at the crowd gathered on the sand, trying to find Duke's head among the masses. While he's scanning the people tanning and swimming and running, Dwight idly wonders how the hell this is anyone's idea of relaxing, being packed like sardines along the strip of beach Duke chose to meet him at.

Eventually, he gives up on the search. Duke answers his phone on the fifth ring. "Where are you?" he asks, foregoing a greeting, the background noise on his end surprisingly muted. Dwight sighs, squinting at the waves.

"I'm in the parking lot," Dwight informs Duke, "Where the hell are _you?_ I've been looking forever."

It's a blatant exaggeration, if he's being entirely honest, but Dwight wants to find Duke and sit down on a beach towel and drink those margaritas Duke promised to prepare before heading down to meet Dwight there. He wants to make the most of the day while it's still early. "Found us a good spot?" Dwight asks, eyes flitting from one end of the beach to the other, the long white strip of sand meeting the blue waves looking absolutely picturesque.

"The best," Duke promises him, "Past the ice cream stand, alright, big guy? I'm waiting for you there."

He hangs up, leaving Dwight to start the trek down to find him. He weaves between teenage girls tanning, kids making sand castles and couples reading in companionable silence, making his way past the ice cream cart and ducking through a gap in a thicket of bushes, finding a quieter, more secluded section of beach. It gives him pause, standing there, staring at a figure lounging on a big, red beach towel, recognizing the curve of Duke's jaw in profile. Dwight doesn't move straight away. He drinks in the sight, forgetting about the sand in his shoes and the damp spot between his shoulder blades, smiling to himself.

"Hey, you," Dwight calls out, pulling off his shirt and tossing it in Duke's general direction. It lands on Duke's chest. Duke doesn't so much as flinch. "Where's my margarita?"

"In the cooler," Duke tells him, grinning as he sits upright and rolls Dwight's sweaty shirt into a bundle, placing it on a smaller towel he's left on the sand. Behind his tinted sunglasses, Dwight can see Duke's eyes flit downward, staring at Dwight's bare stomach. "How much for a real show, Magic Mike?"

Dwight huffs a quiet "For you, it's free," and starts the awkward shuffle of getting his shoes off, gratefully taking the flip-flops Duke hands to him. His jeans are unbearably hot. Dwight is grateful to drag them down and off, left wearing board shorts that are a little clingier than he's used to, but Duke keeps on looking at him and Dwight figures he made a good choice. Kneeling down on the towel, he grabs the sunscreen from Duke's hand, pausing briefly. He ducks in to kiss Duke, unable to resist the impulse.

It's a rare day off for both of them. Dwight can't imagine spending it anywhere else, content to be sitting side by side and soaking up the sunshine together.

"Hey," Dwight chuckles, smiling. "You promised you wouldn't go over the top."

"I didn't," Duke promises, smiling widely. "C'mon, when's the last time we had a date, huh? It's cooler margaritas and sandwiches. Maybe some strawberries," he adds thoughtfully, "And some sliced mango and fresh-squeezed orange juice-"

"Duke," Dwight laughs, cupping one warm cheek. "It's great. Thanks."

Duke leans into his touch for a moment before flopping back down, stretching his arms above his head, his phone quietly playing music from its perch in the shadow of the cooler. Dwight is about done applying sunscreen when Duke asks "Get my back for me?" and rolls over and Dwight goes a little tongue-tied at the sight of all that bare skin, freckles and tattoos drawing his eye.

It's almost unbearable, looking at Duke. It won't stop Dwight from doing it, though. It feels a little bit like looking directly at the sun.

"I got it," he tells Duke, straddling the backs of Duke's thighs and running his sticky palms up Duke's back, all the way from his tailbone to his shoulders. "You're already burnt to a crisp."

"It's called a tan," Duke shoots back, laughing, "You're one to talk. Who's shoulders decided to go for that lovely shade of lobster last year, again?"

Dwight shuts up and rubs Duke down with sunscreen. Once he's done, he presses a kiss to the back of Duke's neck before shifting down to sit cross-legged on the towel, bracing himself on his hands to soak up as much sun as possible. It's comfortable, sitting in silence, listening to the waves and the laughing children running up and down the beach, Dwight's knee resting against Duke's hip.

It's an easy intimacy that took hard work to achieve. Dwight still remembers the butting heads and the distrust, how it took damn near six months for Duke to stay the night. Right now, he gets to place his hand on Duke's bare stomach and have Duke run his thumb languidly across Dwight's knuckles, touching each other just to touch. "Going for a dip," Duke announces, standing up and stretching, "You work on that tan."

Dwight does, settling down on his back, arms crossed behind his head. He closes his eyes, listening to the music, mouth twitching into a smile when _Freebird_ replaces _A Horse With No Name._

Duke does listen. He knows what Dwight enjoys. It's a small thing and it means the world to Dwight, being heard, the fact that Duke takes him into consideration.

Dwight can hear someone trudging through the sand, but he stays right where he is, warm and relaxed on his back, figuring that Duke would call out if he was coming back. Dwight senses a shadow falling across him before he registers what's happening, but by the time Duke's ocean-cold body straddles him, it's too late to duck away.

Dwight makes a choked noise at the freezing hands that plant themselves on his chest, turning his head to get away from the salt water dripping across his face. "Hey," Duke grins, "Come swim with me."

"No," Dwight groans, shivering at the feeling of cold hands on sun-warmed skin. "Off. Get off me."

Duke pauses and then leans down, aligning them from hips to shoulders, his weight pinning Dwight in place. Duke's chest is frigid, making Dwight shiver. "Duke," Dwight laughs helplessly, "That is the opposite of what I told you to do."

His eyes are still closed, but Dwight doesn't need to see Duke to know that he's smiling. "No," Duke resists, "Come swimming with me. You're already wet, anyway," he insists, putting his forehead against Dwight's and breathing shallowly against Dwight's mouth. "It'll be fun. You _do_ remember fun, don't you?"

"I do," Dwight agrees, "I always have fun with you."

Duke kisses him. "Come on, then," he mumbles, rolling off of Dwight and holding out a hand, heaving Dwight to his feet, catching him around the waist when Dwight stumbles. "Last one in is-"

Dwight takes off before Duke can finish the sentence. He can hear Duke yelling _"Son of a bitch,"_ before he starts sprinting across the sand, trying to catch up and Dwight is wheezing with laughter by the time he crashes into the waves, Duke following moments later, their hands eventually meeting underwater.


End file.
